After I got the fire going

this morning, I stepped out onto the deck. It was still quite cold. In the 20's, I'm guess. That chill air and smell of a wood fire? It carries me back to Aunt Emma's or Grandma Bess's in a heartbeat. They both cooked over stoves that were wood fueled, and made some of the tastiest food you'd ever put in your mouth. But mostly I think of tramping in the woods in the cold, and that smell of the wood burning greeted you as you headed toward the house as the sun was setting and you knew that inside was everything most precious: the family gathered around the table, laughter, and stories. Odd how just the whiff of the wood fire and the cold brings it all rushing back to mind.